


Truth Time

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/M, Love Confessions, brief angst with a happy ending, minor torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: The “forced confession” trope. Someone is forced/maneuvered/compelled to confess secret feelings (ex: blackmail, drugs, magic curse, hostage, a bet, a test, hypnosis, truth telling.) Go nuts with the melodrama!</p><p>Summary: Agents Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin end up in a sticky situation after getting caught by a suspect they are pursuing for the FBI, and as things get out of hand, truths regarding their relationship begin to surface, something that neither of them may be quite ready to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Time

**Author's Note:**

> FYI this situation was based on the Smallville episode Committed (8x05) - one of my personal favorites from the series :)

When Bellamy woke, he realized two things: one, he was tied to a chair, and two, he was going to kill Clarke Griffin. Groaning quietly, he tried to shake off the drowsiness from whatever drug the psycho—whom he and his partner had been pursuing for the last few weeks—had used to incapacitate him.  _Stupid_ , he thought,  _you were being so stupid._  As one of the top FBI agents at his field office, he should’ve known better than to be so careless as to not scouting his surroundings better. The guy had overpowered him walking back to his car behind the coffee shop down the street from their hotel. Caffeine was always Bellamy’s go-to solution for soothing raw nerves, especially when it came to dealing with Clarke. His field partner drove him up the fucking wall with her by-the-rule-book mentality and control freak tendencies. She drove him up the wall in other ways too, with her hair flips and charming laughter, the way her eyes followed him around and her teasing smiles.

Two years ago, Clarke had walked into Bellamy’s office and brashly introduced herself as his new partner ( _the best he was ever going to get_ , were her exact words) and since then, his life had been chaos. The first few months of their partnership had consisted of one or the other barging into their boss’s office and demanding a partner reassignment. With a knowing smile, Kane dismissed them each time, saying they would just have to find a way to work it out. After Clarke had ‘accidentally’ backhanded Bellamy with her gun during pursuit of a suspect, they had come to an understanding: they both wanted to be the best, so instead of fighting each other, why not work to put everyone else to shame? Wonder of wonders, it had worked. Coworkers who had once complained about their constant bickering now grumbled enviously about their stellar case closure record. The two of them still fought, and often, but the hostility was gone, replaced by hard-earned respect and professional admiration. Though on his side, admiration had moved way beyond professional months ago. 

Currently, as Bellamy struggled against his bindings, admiration wasn’t what he was feeling for Clarke. Irritation, or downright anger, was more accurate. Their suspect had only caught him because he had been so distracted after his fight with Clarke fight earlier that night. Apparently, she had had a problem with his springing their fake engagement cover on her in the field, a sentiment that she had made abundantly clear (via very loud shouting) after returning to the hotel. It’s not like they could’ve just flashed their badges around without spooking the suspect. How else did she suppose they were going to figure out what jewelry store manager was kidnapping couples and killing them? 

From the minute he had pulled her into an awkwardly close embrace and called her his fiancée in the first store they had visited, she had pasted that  _I’m-pretending-I-like-you-but-I-just-really-want-to-punch-you-in-the-nose_  smile that he was so familiar with from their early days working together. Still, she had grudgingly gone along with it, calling him some hideously saccharine nickname in revenge. He’d almost jumped out of his skin when she had slid her hand up his chest seductively, but he had got her back by toying with loose strands of her hair. Their act had been better at the subsequent stores, even if her continual proximity strained his self-control.

Apparently, someone had bought it though, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, in this decrepit warehouse basement, tied to a chair. Gritting his teeth as he futilely pulled on the rope securing his wrists, Bellamy seethed and thought of the nice, long apology Clarke was going to owe him when he finally escaped, because the plan  _had_  worked. They had caught the suspect’s attention, though Bellamy did realize that literally getting caught by the psycho wasn’t the best outcome. Still, the only upside to this situation is that the guy had taken him and not Clarke. His stomach dropped suddenly at the thought, and he tried to block from his mind the disturbing image of her lashed to the chair instead.

Over the soft drip of leaking water and groan of old pipes, Bellamy suddenly heard footsteps tread lightly down the staircase lining the opposite wall. At first, he thought the shadowy figure was their perp and tensed up in anticipation, but then he saw the flash of blonde in the dark shadows.  _Goddamn it._

“Bellamy?” Clarke called out worriedly, rushing forward with her gun raised, eyes flicking back and forth across the room. 

“What are you doing here?” He hissed back, guessing she must have tracked the GPS signal on his phone when he hadn’t returned to the hotel. 

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, “Saving your idiotic, kidnapped ass. Really, that cover was  _such_ a great plan, Bell.”

“You should sweep the building,” he insisted, ignoring her commentary as she reached down to untie him. “I’ll be fine here. You need to find the suspect. He wouldn’t have gone far.”

“Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” she replied with a small smile.

Before Bellamy could respond, a soft rustling sounded behind them. He turned his head around just in time to see a hand holding a pipe come crashing down onto the side of Clarke’s head. He was able to get out one loud, angry cry of protest before cold metal met his temple and blackness descended.  

* * *

 The second time waking up was worst than the first, because now his head was pounding in pain. As Bellamy blinked in the darkness, surveying the room for their perp, his breath caught in his throat. Clarke was also now tied to a chair, a few feet away and facing him. Her soft moan sparked a pang in his chest, and he watched her with apologetic eyes as she began to stir. 

“You and your goddamn plans,” she grumbled, meeting his gaze reluctantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a quiet, regretful voice.

Clarke straightened in her seat, wincing as she raised her head upright. “I’m just great. You seeing bright flashes of light across your vision, too?”

Bellamy almost sighed in annoyance, because clearly Clarke was okay enough if she was spewing her usual level of dry wit. Still, the blood dripping down the side of her face made him queasy with worry and guilt. 

“You’re bleeding pretty badly, Clarke,” he said, trying very hard to keep his voice steady. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I just need to get out of this dungeon of doom so we can kick this guy’s ass.” 

An amused, eerie voice interrupted them, “Not so fast, lovebirds.”

Jerking his head to the right, Bellamy finally noticed the masked figure standing in front of a wheeled cart with some sort of mechanical contraption on it. He growled in the guy’s direction, hearing Clarke hum with similar frustration.

“Now, now,” their captor said. “Please don’t work yourselves up. That would not be good for your test results.”

Bellamy shared a suspicious glance with his partner before turning his attention back to the masked man, who was now wheeling the cart towards Clarke.

“Hey!” He called out as the guy roughly forced her clenched hand open. “What the hell are you doing? Stop that.”

Ignoring him, the man fixed what looked like some kind of sensor onto Clarke’s index finger and another onto her upper arm. Then he wheeled the cart halfway in between the two chairs, took another set of sensors off and headed for Bellamy. Though he fought it, the perp managed to fix him up in the same way as Clarke before returning to his position behind the cart.

With a high-pitched (and really goddamn creepy) giggle, the psycho whispered, “And so we begin.” 

Looking back to Clarke, Bellamy felt apprehension and anger flare inside him as he noticed the fear lurking in her eyes, even though she was trying hard to hide it.  _It’ll be okay_ , he mouthed reassuringly. She nodded back, mouth pursuing in determination.

“Now, I could tell, from the minute you two stepped into my shop, your relationship was filled with genuine, deep affection. But, love makes very accomplished liars of all of us, so I am here to test your bond. If you pass the test, you get to live. If you fail, well—there will be two less deceivers in the world. Trust me, if you make it through this, you’ll thank me. Maybe even invite me to your wedding.”

Bellamy curled his lips in disgust at the crazed sincerity in the man’s voice, even as his mind raced with worry. He and Clarke weren’t a couple, so how the hell were they supposed get through this in one piece? 

The perp turned to Clarke. “So, ladies first: have you kissed anyone else since you two have been together?” 

Clarke just looked between their captor and Bellamy with wide eyes, clearly at a loss as to what answer would be the right one.  _Lie_ , he mouthed at her, figuring sticking to their role of a besotted couple would be the best bet. If their perp figured out that they were agents, they were dead for sure.

“No,” Clarke replied slowly in an effort to keep her voice even.

A sudden whisper of scratching noises echoed in the room as the machine on the cart sprung to life. 

“Liar,” the man hissed as he glanced down at the paper spewing out of the contraption.  _A lie detector machine_ , Bellamy thought darkly.  _Fucking great._ Then the perp clicked on the trigger in his right hand. Stinging electric shocks radiated from the cuff around Bellamy’s arm, spreading through his torso and down his limbs, and he cried out at the intense pain. Through the agonizing haze, he heard Clarke yelling frantic apologies and amendments to her answer. 

“Please, please stop this! Don’t hurt him. Why are you doing this?” She demanded, voice thick with emotion.

“YOU are doing this to him! Not me!” the man roared back at her. As Bellamy struggled to clear his vision, he blurrily watched as the perp shoved his face in front of Clarke’s, yelling about how it’s our lovers’ lies that hurt us the most, that he is just helping them see the truth about their relationship.  _This guy is certifiable_ , he thought in a panic. 

“Hey,” he croaked, trying to draw the psycho’s attention away from Clarke. “My turn, right?”

The man fell silent, shooting him a critical look. “Indeed it is,” he said smoothly as he regained some of his composure. With a flick of his shoulders, he returned to the cart, raising his left hand, which was holding Clarke’s trigger. “So,” he continued, turning to Bellamy. “Have you slept with anyone else since you fell for this woman?” 

 _Don’t overthink this,_  Bellamy thought calmly. “No,” he blurted out.

Clarke flinched as if preparing herself for the punishment, but no scratching sounds came, and neither did the shock. Bellamy almost closed his eyes to block her from his sight, because her completely bewildered expression told him he had probably been wrong in thinking that she might be falling for him too. Taking in a deep breath, Bellamy gave her a small smile, and her eyes narrowed. He could practically see her mind whirring as she tried to figure out what his strategy was. 

There was no strategy, because this wasn’t a game, not with Clarke. No matter how many times Bellamy had tried to convince himself that his lack of a dating life was due to his crazy hours or intense commitment to his job, he could never quite suppress the truth. He couldn’t be with anyone else, not when he was in love with his partner. It didn’t help that Octavia and Miller also saw right through his excuses, and constantly reminded him of that. Still, it seemed Clarke was the only one who was still in the dark.

“Well, well,” the perp drawled, surprise evident in his voice. “And here I would’ve pegged you to be the liar in this pairing, not her.” 

When Bellamy jerked against his bindings again (because he was really quite over this whole situation) the man laughed. “Sorry, we’re not quite through yet. Back to the future missus. Clearly you haven’t been the most faithful partner, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t love your fiancé. So, here’s the question: do you love this man?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Clarke looked between him and Bellamy, mouth pressed tightly closed as she refused to answer.

“Do you love him?” The perp yelled as he suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it at Bellamy, causing Clarke to jump in fear and surprise. “Answer the question, or I shoot him!” 

After taking one more look at the gun, Clarke ducked her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulders to shield her face. Bellamy watched her shoulders rise shakily as she took in a deep breath. Then, slowly, she looked up, blue eyes finding his and holding his gaze unwaveringly. 

“Yes,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Yes, I do.”

Bellamy waited with bated breath for the scratching noises of the lie detector alerting them to her fib, but it stayed steady and silent. Chest seizing up in surprise, Bellamy watched as Clarke closed her eyes, shuttering off any chance of him being able to figure out what exactly she had meant, or how she had managed to trick the machine. Because the other alternative, that she loved him, well—

Gunshots echoed from the stairwell, and the perp slumped to the floor. Dazedly, Bellamy glanced towards the stairs, where members of a SWAT team were descending, guns pointed warily at the unmoving body of their captor. 

“Oh thank god,” Clarke exhaled, blue eyes flying open and shimmering with relief. 

“You actually called for back up?” Bellamy managed to quip even though her revelation still had him reeling. Several of the SWAT guys had begun to untie them, but he ignored them mostly, still keeping his attention on his partner. 

With a reproachful, annoyed expression, Clarke responded, “It’s not my first day on the job, Blake.” Finally free of the chair, she rubbed her wrists, easing the marks left by the rope.

Bellamy stood, doing the same. Drawing closer to her, he reached up to gently probe the cut and bruise on her temple. “Just very unlike you, lone ranger.”

“I told you never to call me that again,” she murmured, cheeks growing pink at the old nickname before she batted his hand away.

As Bellamy chuckled at her dark expression, Kane approached and, turning to Clarke, mildly said, “And I thought I told you to  _wait_  for backup to arrive before going after Agent Blake.” 

“And I told  _you_  that there was no chance in hell I was leaving my partner alone with that whack job while you got a team together.” 

Pride and something much fonder flared in Bellamy’s chest at her words, but with all the emotional turmoil from only moments ago, he could only manage to jibe back at her, “Aw, so you do care.”

“Stuff it, Blake,” she growled, frowning as Kane laughed. 

“Alright, you two,” he interjected. “You know the drill: get checked out by medical, do your debrief, and then get a good night’s sleep. The rest can be dealt with tomorrow.” 

Before Bellamy could blink, he and Clarke had been ushered upstairs and deposited to separate paramedic teams, then whisked away by fellow agents so they could recount the events of the night. By the time Bellamy pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, it was almost three in the morning. 

Sighing, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, not quite able to make himself get out of the car. He knew what Kane had meant when he said the rest of it—the finer details of the debrief, the written reports, the trip to the morgue, and the identification the suspect—could be dealt with the next day. What remained unresolved between him and Clarke wouldn’t stop haunting his thoughts, though; he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until they had talked. Given that she hadn’t answered the half-dozen calls he had made to her on the way home, Bellamy supposed he would have to confront her in person.  

With an anxious energy, he drove to her small, one-story house just outside the city. He knew the way by heart due to many a drop-off after late nights at the office or pick-ups before stakeouts. She had even invited him over for a dinner party once, and he shook his head at the memory of her in that clingy black dress that had worked so well for her. After he rang the doorbell, Bellamy shoved his hands in his pant pockets, nervously jingling the spare coins he found there. The door opened after a few minutes, revealing an exhausted and apprehensive Clarke.

“Should’ve figured,” she murmured, moving aside slowly to let him in. “Patience never was your strong suit.”

“Says the agent who earlier tonight pursued a suspect without waiting for backup.”

Although he had hoped to provoke her with that jab, curious to see her reaction, she stayed silent. Closing the door, she moved into the living room and sat on the couch, not bothering to turn the lights on. Guess he wouldn’t be staying long. Sighing, Bellamy found a seat on the sofa chair opposite her. Silence stretched between them, an unusual occurrence that had him feeling more uncomfortable by the second. 

Clarke picked at the fraying hem of her oversized sweatshirt for a minute before she took in a deep breath and said, “I slipped the sensor off, you know. Before he asked me that last question. In case you were wondering.” 

She wouldn’t look at him, but Bellamy kept his gaze trained on her anyways, wanting to see her eyes. Clarke was a great liar, something that served them both well in the field, but her eyes—always so expressive, so wild—were what gave her away, every time. After another minute of silence, she looked up and met his stare, lips pressed together tightly. The early morning darkness shadowed her eyes, but they were unmistakably apologetic.

 _Oh._ “Right. Gotcha,” he whispered, hands tightening on his thighs. Her expression softened, and he looked away, not wanting to see the pity that he assumed was coming next. Standing, he moved to leave, but right as he reached the doorway leading to the hall, something held him back. Turning his head over his shoulder, he sighed as he looked at Clarke’s hunched figure, elbows on her knees and steepled hands pressed her mouth worriedly. 

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t change anything,” he reassured her. “We’ll still be the ace team of the department.”

“Bellamy,” she started anxiously, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Seriously, it’s fine.” He said the words, but the knots in his stomach tightened.  _Liar,_ a voice echoed in his memory. As he watched her watch him with guarded eyes, he realized that after tonight, after experiencing something akin to hope when it came to him and her, he couldn’t stay silent anymore. 

Slowly, carefully, he said, “But you should know,” he said, pausing to swallow thickly (because this would change everything) before continuing, “If he had asked me that question—your question—I would’ve said yes, sensor or no, and it would have been the truth.” 

Clarke said nothing, just continued staring at him blankly. With a rueful smile, he walked out and left her sitting in the dark, silent room. Striding down the hall, Bellamy blew out a shaky breath. He almost laughed, because somehow the crazy perp had been right: as much as the truth hurt in the telling, he no longer felt suffocated by the weight of hiding his feelings. And if he lost Clarke because of it, well, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to pain. He would deal, like he always did.

Just as his hand fell on the doorknob, hurried steps echoed down the hall behind him. “Bellamy, wait!” 

Turning, Bellamy took her in, blonde hair falling out of a messy bun, eyes anxious, mouth pursed in determination. Her hands twisted into the hem of her sweatshirt, and she rested one foot on top of the other, shoulders angled as she tried to keep her balance. Tilting his head, he gave her another brittle smile, bracing himself for her apologies for not feeling the same way.

“I lied,” Clarke blurted out, swallowing loudly after the admission.

“What?” Bellamy stammered, not sure of what she was trying to tell him.

Glancing at the ceiling, she let out a single desperate laugh. “I  _lied_ , you idiot. Just now, not before, I mean. I—I didn’t slip the sensor off.”

Bellamy didn’t give her a chance to say another word before he swept down the hall towards her. Clutching her face between his hands, he crushed her lips to his with a needy desperation.  _Finally._  He exhaled in relief at the pressure, feeling her melt against him in response. There was no buildup as they continued to kiss; everything was quick and intense and no-holds-bar. As her hands rapidly untucked his dress shirt before fumbling for the buttons, he backed her roughly into the hallway wall, tugging lightly on her hair to tip her head back. Clarke gasped as he moved down to kiss her neck, and she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders hurriedly. Amused at her haste, Bellamy chuckled against her heated skin.

“Shut up,” she groaned, digging her nails into his shoulder. “Do you know how long I’ve been imagining this?”

“Bet I’ve been thinking about it longer,” he said, tracing his lips back up to her mouth.

Before he could kiss her again, she reached out and bit his lip playfully, sending waves of intense need through him. “Do you have to make everything a competition?” She whispered against his mouth.

“Yes,” he answered playfully, smiling at the challenge rising in her eyes. “Want to see what else I can beat you at?”

“Big talk. Bedroom is down on the left, if you want to take this somewhere more private,” Clarke offered, grinning at him in return.

Immediately, Bellamy began back her down the hall, his quick pace causing them both to stumble. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her back to steady her, and she gripped his shoulders in return. Giggling, she towed him further down until they reached her bedroom doorway.

Right as they crossed the threshold, Bellamy pulled her in for another heated kiss and then murmured against her lips, “You’re so going to lose, Griffin.”

“Not a chance, Blake,” Clarke replied with a laugh before pulling him inside and showing him just how rewarding telling the truth could be.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


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